The Exiled Prince Trilogy

by Jeana E. Mann

  “I know—Spitz has photos of the three of you,” I said. She fell silent. I rested an elbow on the desk and gripped my forehead.

  “Is that why you were acting so weird at lunch?”

  “I was hoping you’d come forward to tell me.” We stared at each other. More than anything, I wanted to believe in her motives, to trust her again.

  “How long have you known?” She turned her back and walked to the wire-and-metal sculpture hanging on the far wall.

  “Since yesterday.”

  “It’s not what it looks like. I swear.” She pivoted on her stiletto heels. Her words gathered speed. “I was visiting a friend who lives in Lavender’s building and ran into them on the elevator. It was…upsetting to say the least.” The pain in her voice thawed some of the ice around my heart. “He didn’t apologize or anything. He said his relationship with my mom was solid, and he expected me to be an adult and keep it to myself. They gave me a ride home. We had a huge argument in the car. It was awful.” Tears softened the brightness of her eyes. She stopped beside me and placed her hand on mine. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her anguish brought a thickness to my throat. I stared at our hands. “You’re not responsible for his behavior. He’s a grown man. I just wish—I wish you’d told me sooner.”

  “I threatened to tell Mom if he didn’t break it off, and that’s where we left it. Things have been strained between us since then.”

  The enormity of her confession hit me with full force. Not only did Mr. McElroy have a motive for Lavender’s death, Everly did also. In my heart of hearts, I knew she didn’t have the capacity to harm someone, but a spark of anger flared at her reluctance to come forward. “I understand why you didn’t say anything, but it might have saved Roman a lot of trouble.”

  “I know it was wrong.” She hung her head. “But it gets worse. He didn’t come home at all the night Lavender died. I know, because Mom mentioned it the next day. He left a voice mail for me later and said the situation ‘had been resolved’ and not to worry my mother with it.” She drew air quotes around the words with her fingers.

  “Do you think he could do something like that?” Even with photograph evidence of his dalliance, Mr. McElroy still seemed like the all-American hero.

  “Of course not.” She rolled her eyes.

  “You have to tell the police.” My pulse began to pound between my temples. I reached for the phone.

  “No.” She placed a hand on the receiver, blocking me. “Rourke, he’s my dad.” Her blue eyes grew rounder, reminding me of the way she’d looked as a child.

  I studied her downcast face, debating my next move. “I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me.”

  “I do trust you. More than anyone.” Tears continued to gather in her eyes. “That’s why I’m telling you now. As much as I love you, I don’t want to betray him. Can’t you understand? I’m in a tough position.” Sincerity rang in her words.

  “And Roman is my husband.” The futures of two important people depended upon the truth. My frustration continued to escalate. “You’d let an innocent man go to prison for a crime your father committed?”

  “It’s not going to come to that. If Roman is innocent, his lawyers will prove it.”

  “If he’s innocent? If? Do you hear yourself?” The cap on my temper exploded. I paced across the room, fighting the urge to throw something. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

  “We don’t know that Dad did anything wrong,” she said, frowning. “I’m not going to throw him under bus for no reason. What kind of daughter would do that?”

  “But he had the means, motive, and opportunity. His relationship with Lavender would be enough to cast reasonable doubt on Roman.” Despite the recent ugliness and deceit introduced into my life, I needed to believe there were still good people in the world. She’d always been a true friend. In the end, I knew she’d do the right thing. “Go to the police, Everly. You have to do this for me.”

  “And say what? My father, the beloved former Vice President and war hero, had an affair with Lavender?” She lifted her palms into the air. “I don’t have any evidence. They’ll think I’m insane or out for publicity.”

  My hopes plummeted. Fate attempted to thwart me at every turn. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, coldness seeped into my bones. “If you don’t do this for me, we’re done, Everly.”

  “What?” She jerked as if I’d struck her. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do mean it. Every word. Either you take care of this, or I will, and I guarantee you won’t like my methods.”

  She left the office, wounded and angry. The old Rourke would have gone home to wallow in misery, but Mrs. Menshikov didn’t have time for self-pity. As soon as the door closed behind her, I summoned Spitz.

  “Lance has been terminated,” he said, expression grim.

  “What did he say?”

  “Not a damn thing. Just took his paycheck and left.” He ran a hand through his grizzled crew cut. “I’ll have Graves step in for him. He’s a good guy. Served under me in the military.”

  “Okay. Thanks for handling that.”

  “And here’s a phone for you.” He pulled a new iPhone from his pocket. “I had your contacts and email transferred over. You should be ready to go.”

  We might not like each other, but I had to respect his competency. “Great. I’ll need the car brought around. I’m going to Kellie Laghari’s office and hound her until she sees me. And do you have those pictures of McElroy and Lavender?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Make two copies. Take a set with you. Put them somewhere safe.”

  “And the other one?”

  “That set is for Mr. McElroy. An insurance policy.”

  His eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “My respect for you has escalated to a whole new level.”

  22

  Roman

  Around mid-morning following the day of my arrest, the guard pulled me out of my cell and led me to a visitation room. An unfamiliar man peered at me from beneath unruly black eyebrows. He sat on the edge of the metal table, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. The hem of his pants rode up his legs, showing a swath of hairy calf and black socks. He stood when I entered.

  “Mr. Menshikov, I’m Mr. Green. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” A thick Bostonian accent couched his words. “Have a seat.”

  I pulled out the chair across from him and rubbed my wrists, grateful to be free of the handcuffs.

  “Help yourself.” He nodded toward a second cup of coffee and a box of donuts. “How’d you sleep last night?”

  “Like a baby.” I winced as the hot coffee scalded my tongue. Because of my fame, I’d been given a solitary cell, separate from the other inmates. The unfamiliar sounds of the jail and the hard metal bunk had kept me awake, but he didn’t need to know that. “You?”

  “Great, thanks for asking.” His tone was light and conversational, but he watched me with predatory intent. “I was up late watching the Celtics. Are you a basketball fan?”

  “Not really.”

  “No? Too bad. Great game.”

  “I want my phone call and an attorney.” I didn’t give two shits about this man in his cheap suit with the broken capillaries around his nose and bad haircut. I wanted to go home to Rourke. Immediately.

  “We’ll get to that.” Green sat on the edge of the desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded me down the length of his hawk nose.

  “You’re not with the FBI,” I said, realizing he’d failed to identify his branch of employment.

  “No, I’m not.” The soles of his shoes left black scuff marks on the concrete floor. “I’m here on behalf of an independent contractor, a former business associate of yours.”

  “And who might that be?” I feigned disinterest while my blood pressure began to climb.

  “You know I can’t name names. Kind of like that kinky club of yours.” His thick black eyebrows waggled, mocking me.

  “Just get to the point. Wh
at do you want?”

  “I saw your wife this morning.” His lazy smile suggested he enjoyed prolonging my torment. The hairs lifted on the back of my neck. “She’s an attractive woman.”

  My fingers curled with the urge to pin him to the wall by the throat. “Lay one finger on her, and you’ll die.”

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Menshikov? Because I’d be happy to add a few additional charges to the ones already pending.”

  “Anyone who knows me knows I don’t make threats, Mr. Green.”

  He shrugged. “From where I’m standing, you’re fucked. My employer is a very powerful man, more powerful than you. In fact, he fabricated this little mess to teach you a lesson. If you continue to interfere in his business, he’ll take you out the same way he took out Ms. Walenska and your friend Ivan.”

  “I don’t know who your employer is, but you can tell him to kiss my ass.”

  “Are you sure about that? What you’re going through right now is nothing compared to the hell he’s prepared to rain down on you and your family if you don’t cooperate.”

  His ominous words knifed through me. It was one thing to gamble with my own life, but another to jeopardize the safety of my wife and children. Their wellbeing meant more to me than my mortality. “I want my attorney.” Although I’d been in a cell for almost twenty-four hours, I hadn’t been given a phone call nor a visit with legal counsel.

  He took a sip of his coffee and regarded me over the rim of his cup. “Give me your word that you’ll cut ties with Prince Heinrich, and this can all be over.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I mimicked his casual pose.

  Mr. Green laughed. “I’ve been given the authority to do whatever is necessary to stop you. I can be very creative when I need to.”

  “You must have me confused with someone else. I’m just a simple businessman.” In a show of bewilderment, I lifted my open palms in the air. “When word gets out that I’ve been denied my basic rights, your ass is going to be in a world of hurt.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Well, you should be. I bet my Lear jet that your boss’s boss has no idea I’m here. And when he finds out? He’s going to be pissed.”

  “My boss’s boss is the President of our great nation.”

  I shrugged. “Like I said.”

  Someone banged on the door. Both our heads snapped in the direction of the entrance. “Come in,” Green said. “What is it? I’m busy.”

  The man cast a worried frown in my direction. “Sir, we have an issue.”

  “Unless the goddam Pentagon is on fire, I don’t care.” Green returned his attention to me, but the man persisted.

  “I think you’ll care about this.”

  At that exact moment, Green’s phone buzzed. He frowned at the caller ID before placing the phone to his ear. His expression drooped, and his jaw clenched. “Are you sure?” I couldn’t make out the identity of the person on the other side of the line, but they were definitely shouting. “Fine. Right away.”

  “Your wife?” I asked.

  He sighed, a heavy, gusting exhale of a man whose patience had been tried to the limits. “Your attorney is here.” He slipped out of the room moments before the door opened for a second time.

  A woman stepped into the room—Kellie fucking Laghari. We’d never met before but I knew her by reputation and by her frequent television appearances. She nodded to me and extended her hand. “Mr. Menshikov, good to see you. I’m Kellie Laghari. Your wife has retained me as your legal counsel.”

  “Ms. Laghari, it’s a pleasure.” We shook hands. Her firm grip encased my fingers. Few people intimidated me, but she became a serious contender for the title. Only a few inches shorter than my six-four, she exuded strength and authority in a severe red power suit and blue-black hair shorter than mine. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “Please call me Kellie.” Her mouth remained in a firm line, but her eyes were filled with warmth. “Have you been mistreated in any way?” Her dark gaze slid over my face, looking for signs of battery.

  “Not really. Although I haven’t eaten since I arrived, and no one offered me a phone call.” I scratched a my fingers through my beard.

  “We’ll make sure they’re held accountable for that.” She claimed the chair across from me at the table and pulled a file from her briefcase. “I’ve spoken with the judge and the District Attorney. Apparently, most of the evidence against you is circumstantial. They’re building a case strictly around your DNA found at the crime scene.”

  “That’s not possible.” My tired mind fought to process the information. “I haven’t been to Lavender’s apartment in over two years.”

  “According to the evidence, they also found a dresser drawer in her bedroom containing personal items identified as belonging to you—clothing, cufflinks, a watch, condoms—all with your fingerprints.”

  “Like I said, impossible.” I ran my hands through my hair.

  She thumbed through the paperwork, frowning. “I need you to be honest with me, Mr. Menshikov. Everything you say to me is confidential under attorney-client privilege. Do you have any knowledge of Ms. Cunningham’s death?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “And yet, you can’t provide an alibi for the night of her murder?”

  The walls of the room shrank. “I was at a business meeting with Prince Heinrich Von Stratton.”

  “All night?” She cocked an eyebrow.

  “The prince keeps late hours.”

  “Can he corroborate your story?”

  “He could, but he won’t,” I said. “The nature of our business was—” I paused, searching for the proper term. “Delicate.”

  23

  Rourke

  Mr. McElroy greeted me at the door of his home with a smile. “Come in. Come in. Judy said to send you her regrets. She had some kind of luncheon thing today, so it’s just the two of us.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll miss her. Be sure to give her my love.” Being alone with him in the giant townhouse set my nerves on edge. I glanced down the empty hallways and listened for sounds of the household staff. Silence greeted my ears.

  He gestured toward the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m glad you reached out to me. I’ve been worried about you. This business with Roman—it’s a terrible thing. You must be horrified.”

  “It was certainly unexpected.” My insides quaked. This wasn’t the time for a panic attack. The events of this meeting could shape Roman’s future. Why hadn’t I formulated some kind of strategy prior to barging over here? I brushed my sweaty palms over the fabric of my skirt before clasping them together in my lap.

  “There’s no need to beat yourself up about it. A man with Roman’s appetites will never be satisfied with just one woman, even one as spectacular as you. I’ll do everything in my power to get you out of this mess.”

  The cherubs and naked women of the ceiling mural stared down at me, judgment in their round, angelic eyes.

  Mr. McElroy opened the heavy doors of an antique Italian liquor cabinet and withdrew an elaborately decorated silver box. He lifted the lid to reveal a mirrored interior, matching brandy snifters, and an ornate silver bottle. With his back to me, he filled the glass with an inch of golden liquid. “Would you like some?”

  “No. I’m fine, thank you.” I sucked in a breath and gathered my courage. “I’m not here about a divorce. I’m here because I know about you and Lavender.”

  He froze for a fraction of a second then placed the snifter into a warmer fashioned from elaborately intertwined gold vines and lit the tea candle underneath. Except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the occasional honk of a car horn from the street, silence filled the room. He placed both hands on the top of the bar and stared at the counter for an eternity before turning to face me. “What, exactly is it that you think you know?” he asked, his tone unexpectedly mild.

  “That you had a longstanding affair. T
hat you were at her apartment the night she died. And there are witnesses.”

  He stared into the brandy, slowly swirling the contents around the glass. “Not anymore.”

  “What does that mean?” My heart pounded furiously against my chest.

  “It means those people no longer exist.” He sank into the chair across from me.

  A cold chill ran down my back. Although he could have been bluffing, something in his tone suggested otherwise. “I have pictures—photographs—taken from a neighboring security camera.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Danger sharpened his words. He rested an ankle on the opposite knee, assuming the pose of a man who feared very little.

  I called the pictures up on my phone and flashed them beneath his nose. His expression remained bland, his breathing unhurried. After a minute, he waved my hand away. “Don’t underestimate the scope of my authority. I’ve been playing this game since before you were born. Roman’s father tried it, and look what happened to him.”

  The chill turned into icy fingers, threatening to strangle me. I swallowed and sat back against the plush cushions to do the math. Mr. McElroy was in his seventies. Everly had been a late child from Judy, his much-younger second wife. He would have been in his twenties when Roman’s parents had died. I pressed a hand to my mouth, feeling the bile crawl up my throat. “I don’t think you should be telling me these things.”

  “Why not? We’re old friends, right? And I trust you.” When I didn’t answer, he took a sip of the brandy, closed his eyes, and nodded. “Mmmm. Very good. It’s Hennessey. Two hundred grand for this bottle. I guarantee you’ve never tasted anything like it. Are you sure you don’t want some?”

  “No.” My frustration began to grow.

  His tone gentled. “Do the right thing here, Rourke. Are you going to cling to this husband of yours, a reject from his own government, a man who deals in weapons and war? Or are you going to side with your country and me, a decorated war veteran and former Vice President?”